For Love
by The Sith Virtuoso
Summary: The enemy is at the gates and Ser Jaime Lannister must decide what he must do to save his Queen. A really long one shot regarding my interpretation of how this particular story arc ends in ASOIAF. Jaime x Cersei. Complete. Please enjoy and reviews are much appreciated :)


**All characters property of George R.R. Martin**

 **Author's note: There's something "meta" going on in this story if you know what I mean :) an event that happened in canon in the past of one of the characters featured in this story somewhat predicted that this might actually happen. Kudos to you if you got it ^^ -DG**

* * *

 **FOR LOVE**

" _I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you, and lost the best part of me along the way._

 _Don't tell me to leave."_

* * *

"Bar the doors," Ser Jaime Lannister barked, " _Now!_ "

The two remaining members of the Queensguard, Boros Blount and Osmund Kettleblack, immediately—albeit begdrudgingly—obeyed their Lord Commander's request.

Ser Balon Swann had already been lost; slain by the White Wolf himself in a recent skirmish.

 _He at least died with honor. But this..._

He, Lord Commander of the Queensguard, had tasked the silent hulk, Ser Robert Strong, to assume the frontline where he hoped that the man's freakish strength and brutality would lend an edge to their cause.

Dark thoughts clouded his mind, _We need all the advantage we can get..._

He was out of breath as he entered the throne room where Cersei kept her vigil.

To his disgust, his one-time-healer, Qyburn was there conversing with her even as she continued to drain one goblet of wine after another.

Jaime walked briskly toward the Iron Throne where she sat and could see from the rosy flush on her cheeks that the drinks were fast getting the better of her.

 _She should be planning her escape,_ Jaime thought irately, _instead she favors the bottle!_

He might have admired her gall had she been someone else.

But she was Cersei.

His queen, his sister, his twin, his lover and the mother of all his children.

 _All gone now,_ he mused gloomily.

She was all that was left.

 _Cersei, oh Cersei, stop this madness now!_

The battle outside was faring very badly for their forces.

The combined armies of Targaryen and Stark were pounding away at them; even now, Jaime knew that they might breech the walls of King's Landing any moment.

He was at least thankful that Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were still engaged at another battle.

He did not have the guts to relate to Harren the Black three centuries before, and how he had most unwisely taunted Aegon the Conqueror about his fortress' impregnability.

Their only ally was winter itself.

The wind had whipped itself into a brutal blizzard on that fateful day, and the Lannister armies—after having been decimated on the field—had fast retreated into the walls of King's Landing while the Stark - Targaryen army led by the King in the North himself attempted to smash their way through even as they struggled against the bitter cold.

It might have gone in their favour had Cersei not commanded half their forces to engage another Targaryen army, under the leadership of Daenerys Targaryen and her advisers, at the Red Fork. They had lost enough men already from earlier skirmishes with the enemy and could not spare any more.

He had no qualms about Lord Randyll Tarly's ability to command, but he knew Lord Tarly would lose.

He was present when she gave her command to the incredulity of their military commanders, Jaime himself included.

None however voiced their objections louder than Lord Tarly himself, whom Cersei had chosen to head the campaign.

Lord Tarly had attempted to make her see reason and then protested as respectfully as he could to his Queen, but Cersei would not have any of it. She had then presented Lord Tarly's daughter in a gibbet, threatening to have her beheaded there and then when Randyll Tarly had threatened to abandon the Royal cause.

And so the one-time Hand had capitulated and gone willingly to what Jaime knew was his doom.

They simply had no time and no answer to what the Targaryen armies had.

He mused darkly whether or not Lord Tarly and his ill-fated army had already met their deaths through fire or ice.

What worried Jaime more was the army of northmen.

He had seen firsthand that they were even better led than the Dragon Queen's forces; better even than Stannis Baratheon's.

Worse—they outnumbered what forces they had left three-to-one thanks to Cersei's earlier demands.

Jaime had led the charge and himself considered fortunate that he had actually survived after the travesty that had transpired.

Even with winter chewing away at the enemy, Jaime Lannister knew that those walls can only take so much.

Either the enemy would successfully scale the wall, or bash themselves home with the battering rams they had brought with them.

The sound of the pounding on the walls of Kings' Landing was testament to that. The keep's walls of thick stone only allowed a muffled facsimile of its source.

 _Does she know? Does she understand what might happen?_

He _had_ to do something, but what precisely, eluded him.

* * *

At last he had reached the foot of the Iron Throne.

Qyburn had stopped speaking and eyed him warily while Cersei regarded him with an unfocused smile. Jaime saw that the one-time maester now wore robes of gold and white silk—a far cry from the black rags he had donned while on escort with Jaime from the place where had been deprived of his sword-hand.

 _Where I truly lost myself for the first time..._

"Lord Commander," she called, breaking his musings "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

 _Seven hells, she is drunk..._

"My Queen—Cersei, please—"

" _No_ ," she snapped, "I— _we—_ will not leave this place."

Jaime began to get truly angry then, but his love for her restrained his words even as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Cersei, our forces will _not_ hold!"

" _Yes_ they will. We have _walls,_ Lord Commander, the enemy does not. They will freeze dead before the sun sets."

Then she let out a mirthless laugh.

" _Lord_ Qyburn assures me that much among other things."

"Does he now?" Jaime sneered, "so you would rather heed the word of a man who has never been to the forefront of battle over those of mine?"

Inside he begged her to see reason, to hear herself talk this nonsense even as Qyburn looked indignant but stayed silent as ever.

"I trust him with my life, Ser," taking a deep sip from her goblet.

His jaw tightened even more seeing the sanctimonious little smirk Qyburn gave upon her retort while standing steadfast by his Queen's side.

"Something amusing, Lord Hand?" Jaime regarded the fallen maester.

"I would not term it _amusing_ , Lord Commander," Qyburn raised an eyebrow, "I am simply satisfied with the faith Her Grace has placed in me and my methods."

He had heard enough of his methods ever since he had returned to his sister's side and could scarce believe half of them.

Cersei never took her eyes off her twin as she nodded in silent agreement to her Hand and a small smile on her lips.

The Hand continued with a note of pride in his voice, " _You_ would know, Ser Jaime; that whatever task I am put to, I deliver. So it has been for my services to the Queen."

And the old man's eyes flashed on Jaime's golden hand.

 _Seven hells, this is going nowhere!_

"Your Grace," he strained, trying to sound as calm as his desperation would permit him and hoping his return to a formal address would change her mind, "I implore you heed me... we are outnumbered and in ill-position for defense. Once our walls are breached—and you have been appraised of our enemies' possession of siege engines among other things—the city stands no chance. The Red Keep will not hold much longer after that."

The Queen in the Iron Throne regarded him with a steely eye but nonetheless remained silent. So the Lord Commander continued, "Despite what methods the Lord Hand may have told you, and though I may... _respect_ his opinions in other matters, he is _not_ a soldier whereas I am. Like it or not, Your Grace, _we_ are at the very heart of a battle. As Lord Commander of your Queensguard, I am sworn to protect you and I beseech—"

His pleas were cut short when she hurled her golden goblet, hitting him on his gilded chestplate, its contents splashing over him and turning burgundy the white tunic he wore underneath.

He bit his tongue to avoid his frustration and desperation from spouting out something that might make her even more unreasonable.

 _Cersei...what has happened to you?_

Ever since Tommen and Myrcella had followed Joffrey to the grave, he _had_ expected Cersei to lash out at the world.

But then what mother wouldn't?

He himself mourned for Tommen and Myrcella the way he did not with Joffrey.

He truly loved his younger son and only daughter, and recalled how he had wept with his sister on their deaths. He had also attempted to restrain her impetuousness as best he could, and for a time, he believed he had succeeded.

But somewhere along the way, perhaps on the very day that crown had been set atop her head, the woman he loved began to disappear.

Yes, he loved Cersei still.

But somehow, somewhere, she had changed. Into what, Jaime could not comprehend.

It had frightened him—not for his own life—but for hers.

He had attempted to justify all that she had been doing because of that love, and only then did he realize how he had blinded himself from an ugly truth.

 _But I still love her..._

It was hopeless to resist and Jaime knew he probably could not anyway.

* * *

" _Get out_ , Lord Commander," she snarled in a deadly whisper, "you say you are a soldier, a commander; you say your duty is to protect me. Well, you are not protecting me by standing here like a fool. Get out then and _fight_ , and woe betide you—"

The sound of shattered glass and rough voices shouting made the heads of all those present in the throne room snap up.

To their combined horror, a band of savages dressed in furs and armed with a motley set of bronze and iron weapons had dropped down from the shattered window behind the Iron Throne and fast advanced on their position.

"DEFEND YOUR QUEEN!" he roared toward Osmund Kettleblack and Boros Blount.

Jaime had half expected them to take the bar out of the door and bolt out like the scum he knew they were; instead the two had exceeded his expectations and ran back towards the Throne as fast as they could, swords bared and Boros the Belly panting & red-faced.

The band of wildlings fast surrounded them while the three remaining members of the Queensguard formed a perimeter between the Queen and the Hand; both of whom had become pale faced with terror.

There were ten wildlings; men and women both, each holding weapons in their hands. Jaime saw that those arms were worn, and his unease grew knowing that each of these savages was as battle-hardened and blooded as the weapons they carried.

Then they struck.

Jaime defended against three assailants at once with both sword and his golden hand, moving back to force both Qyburn and a sobbing, terrified Cersei toward the Iron Throne where they could not be attacked from behind.

A small but burly wildling bearing an axe almost as large as its owner was the first to make an attempt—Jaime ducked in time to avoid the axe from cleaving him in twain and retaliated with a spinning kick to the savage's head that knocked out the savage.

He did not even have time to catch his breath when the axe-wildling's two companions—a tall, rangy male and a muscular, tattooed female—engaged him and wielded their rusted iron swords to great effect.

Though he had certainly regained skill using his off-hand; Jaime had never been the same in losing his sword hand to Vargo Hoat and his band of thugs. Only his armor saved him from what would have been debilitating blows during that fight.

Ser Jaime Lannister understood that he needed to end this quickly.

Both of his attackers had attempted to corral him from two sides; anticipating their actions, he lashed out with his gilded metal hand, catching the female's blade even as he evaded her companion's attack.

Jaime's sword slashed through the male wildling's neck when the savage had attempted to turn around from his failed assault. Wasting no time while the female wildling was attempting to disentangle her sword from his golden hand's grasp, Jaime brought his blade back and sent the female's entrails spilling onto the floor with one swift attack.

Just then, a flash of grey caught his eye and he shifted just in time to avoid an axe hurtling toward him, only for the same to bury itself deep into Qyburn's chest.

The fallen maester's eyes seemed to grow to the size of dinner plates as he beheld his own death staining his fine white-and-gold clothes in wet crimson. The terrified Queen beside him screamed shrilly as the old man collapsed.

The smallish brute dove for his fallen comrade's sword, but was intercepted by the Lord Commander.

They wrestled and rolled and eventually the smaller but stronger wildling got the upper hand and proceeded to bash the knight's face in with his fists.

Each blow from that dirty fist seemed like a mountain crashing. Each punch that wretched Zollo's arakh chopping away at his face. He was being beaten to death, and his will was fast failing him.

" _JAIME!"_ he heard her scream, and with a roar befitting a Lannister and strength only she could give him, he thrust his golden hand blindly, squarely shattering the savage's teeth.

In the seconds it had taken for the brute to recoil, Jaime had already driven his dagger up through the wildling's jaw.

To his relief, his two sworn brothers had slain their opponents as well.

Only Osmund Kettleblack would live though; Blount had been hacked in the thigh with a cleaver and had only managed to kill his last opponent by wrenching the cleaver from his mangled thigh and bringing it across the savage's face.

The portly knight was slumped down on the floor, moaning in agony, his face deathly pale and his white cape drenched with the blood that continued to spurt from the gash on his useless thigh, try as he might to staunch it with his hands.

The bitter, cold wind from the storm beyond had spread through the throne room with unnerving speed, and the torches that lit and heated the great hall flickered pathetically in its wake, dying a little bit, one moment at a time.

The late Eddard Stark would have spoken, _Winter_ is _come_ , Ser Jaime thought.

It was not something that brought happy tidings to his troubled self.

"Kettleblack—", he heard Boros Blount plead, only for whatever request he may have had to his sworn brother to be forever silenced when Osmund Kettleblack, scarred and sporting a bleeding lip, opened the dying man's throat with one stroke of his sword.

"M'apologies, Lord Commander. It was only merciful," the black haired knight shrugged when he saw his Lord Commander regarding him in a mix of shock and indignation.

Another Lord Commander would have killed Osmund Kettleblack as an oathbreaker, but Jaime was too worried about other things to set right as was his duty. He cast a long glance at the rapidly dimming room, looking for any other assailants who may have taken cover during the ruckus.

He found only his sister, ashen faced & shuddering both from cold and horror, tears flowing from her emerald eyes over the corpse of her Hand.

* * *

"Ser Osmund," he said sharply, "watch the door."

He went down on one knee and gently laid his hands on her shoulders.

She was not his Queen at that moment.

She was only Cersei, the woman he loved.

"Cersei..." he whispered, "we must go. Please...we have not much time"

For a while it seemed as if the Queen had been permanently struck dumb.

Only when he had resorted to shaking her to her senses did she respond—a scream of purest horror escaping her perfect lips, eyes wide and white like a mad horse, her fingers becoming claws that pulled at her golden locks.

"Cersei! _Cersei!_ CERSEI!" he desperately called out, cupping her face between his hand of flesh and his hand of gold and forcing the delirious woman in front of him look him straight in the eye, "I'm here! I'M HERE!"

As if by magic, as if a small part of her had returned from her madness, the wretched woman stopped screaming.

"J-Jaime..." she whimpered instead, " _Jaime_?"

He stroked her hair, "Yes, Cersei...I'm here."

"Jaime...?" she repeated stupidly, looking at him as if she had never seen another person in her whole life

"Shh..." Jaime spoke tenderly despite the biting cold, "yes, it's Jaime. _Your_ Jaime."

At that she allowed herself to fall onto his chest softly and held him tight while he responded in kind, soothing her.

The snowy, howling gale blowing from the ruined window brought with it the sounds of metal clashing, of stone crumbling, of men crying out in a plethora of emotion, of women and children screaming. In no time at all did the tell-tale dim gold-red light of fire make itself known in the darkened throne room.

 _The walls have been breached!_ Jaime knew.

He willed himself not to think of what was happening to his men beyond the Red Keep.

They had to leave if they were to have any chance of surviving.

"Cersei..." he implored again, "we must go."

"The fire..." she choked, "the fire...f-fire...they...must _burn_..." and she suddenly stood with such vigor that she sent him down on his rump, dumbfounded.

 _What?_

* * *

"CERSEI! LISTEN TO ME!"

The madness in Cersei's eyes was replaced by a hate blacker than Jaime had ever witnessed, " _No! You_ listen! I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and out there are traitors! _Traitors! Usurpers_!"

In the dark, with only the flickering lights of encroaching flames she looked oddly impressive.

Imperious in her regalia like a vengeful goddess.

He was paralyzed in her presence, a mortal in the face of divinity, " _Cersei!—"_

"Jaime, _listen!"_ and the queen's lips peeled in a smile a panther would have recognized, "I have already made plans for such an event. The so called King in the North and the Dragon Queen want this throne? _My_ throne? _Our family's_ throne?"

And then she laughed.

It was a laugh that came straight from the pits of all seven hells.

A sound that chilled seasoned warriors like Ser Jaime to the bone.

He remained on the floor, transfixed, she regarded both him and Ser Osmund who stood by the door, sword out and his eyes wary and fixed at his Queen.

"I am a _Lannister._ We Lannisters always pay our debts. You both know what the punishment for treason is, good sers. I only desire that you fulfill your duty both to your Queen and to the realm. They are all traitors. I order you both to _kill them all_."

Jaime was lost, _my sister is mad,_ he thought, aghast.

Osmund Kettleblack must have been a mad man as well, for he simply bowed and made his way to the foot of the Iron Throne.

It confounded him. He yearned to know what was going on. Why was his sister not worried for herself? What was the upjumped sellsword up to as he attempted to lift a tile from the foot of that damned throne?

"Jaime," she called out softly to him. Her voice, free of the madness and fear that had only consumed her minutes past, brought him back to reality.

"Cersei, what is going on?"

"Justice, dear brother. _Justice._ "

"Justice?—" the rest of what he was about to say was silenced by the most passionate kiss she had given him in a long time.

"Don't you see Jaime, my love? They want to destroy me—to destroy _us_! No...we will be masters of our destiny!"

He stood silent in her embrace, unable to completely process what she was saying.

"I love you, Jaime...and what I do now, is _for love._ Do you recall how I dealt with the Faith?"

How could he not? On certain nights he still suffered those nightmares.

Fever dreams of the city being overrun by screaming ghosts of green fire.

Night terrors of Tommen and Myrcella devoured by countless, smoldering green maws.

In those nightmare recollections did he finally realize what she had planned to do.

"Cersei _—this is madness!_ " and the world began to spin.

"No, Jaime...this is for _us_." she whispered tenderly as she stroked his cheek "we will burn them all."

The world went white.

 _He was seventeen again, fresh on the Kingsguard, fearful and brooding as the Mad King cackled and consulted with his new Hand. The boy could take no more...his father's army was fast sacking the city and his King simply sat on his grotesque throne conversing with an upjumped conjurer..._

 _Burn them all..._ her voice whispered.

 _How he had begged the King to see reason! That the war was lost; that even a bitter surrender was better than ignominious death. That at any moment, the armies of wolf, stag and lion may come barging in through the barred doors..._

 _Burn them all..._ said that voice he loved more than anything else.

 _The Mad King simply laughed mirthlessly and pointed with one of the talons that served for his fingers to the boy. "Your father's head," Aerys Targaryen had sneered at the young knight who knelt at his feet, "bring it to me."_

 _Burn them all..._ sang the voice even as his head swam through time.

 _The boy knight knelt paralyzed in horror, not knowing what he must do. The King did not even notice this even as he then regarded his Hand, the pyromancer. "Burn them all," the boy heard the Mad King say, "Burn them in their homes! Burn them in their beds!_

 _Burn them all..._ his heart began to race.

 _In a daze, the golden-haired boy-knight stood up and drew his gilded blade. A flash of gold, a spurt of scarlet and Rossart, who had been Hand of the King for a fortnight, tumbled down with his throat opened by the side of the Iron Throne._

 _Burn them all..._ and that time, her voice was not alone.

 _The Mad King's eyes widened and he screamed in a horrific mix of fear and fury as he turned to run. The young knight was faster than his monstrous liege and it took him no time at all to drive his golden sword into the old man's back._

 _Burn them all..._ the voices whispered.

" _Burn them all," King Aerys said even as he fell down in his blood and his madness, "Burn them all..." The young knight, whose golden armor and white cape had become spattered with the blood of his King simply stood there, apparently calm and curious, regarding the Mad King who twitched and continued to blurt out those last words._

" _Burn them all..."_ he kept saying. _Burn them all,_ Cersei's voice commanded in concert.

 _And then the withered corpse with his sword in its back was not Aerys at all and instead Jaime saw his father, hale and golden, lying in a pool of blood._

 _Burn them all..._ the imperious voice of Lord Tywin Lannister joined the other two.

 _No..._ Jaime pleaded the voices, _don't make me do this!_

 _Burn them all,_ commanded their voices.

 _No...I cannot! I_ will _not!_

 _BURN THEM ALL!_

"NEVER!"

Suddenly Jaime Lannister stood up and ran like a man possessed, taking hold of a bewildered Osmund Kettleblack who had been attempting to light a fuse beneath that trap-tile.

Osmund Kettleblack did not even have time to scream when his Lord Commander shoved his face into the still-sharp blades at the foot of the Iron Throne.

* * *

He did not hear Cersei's horrified screech upon seeing what he had done, even as shouts of rough northern voices from beyond the throne room's great doors added to the furious din blaring from the howling window.

He took her in his arms and before Cersei could resist him, pulled her into a kiss.

"What have you done?" she screamed in horror-filled tears as she struggled against his embrace, " _What have you done!"_

"They will not win," he whispered to her and his calmness made her look into the face of the man she loved.

His eyes were smoldering like the fires outside, fixed onto hers as if she was the most beautiful thing in the universe.

"They will not win, Cersei, I promise you."

He spoke so tenderly that she had to close her eyes and actually fight off a smile. She wanted to believe him so dearly.

"Jaime...oh Jaime," she pleaded, "save me... _save me..._ "

His hand of gold stroked her face, and she laid her tear-filled cheek on it and his heart pounded for her stronger than ever.

Just as it had been when they were still learning what it meant to love.

"I _will_ save you..." he said even as tears began to flow from his emerald eyes.

"I believe you," she smiled sincerely, and it made his heart ache knowing that she believed him with every fiber of her being, "I _know_ you will save us."

Voices of strangers calling in concert along with the sound of wood slamming on wood heralded their enemies' attempts to smash open the barred throne room with a ram.

Yet neither of the golden twins heard it.

She was transfixed by him, helpless in his arms, with her cheek on his hand of gold and her forehead pressed on his.

He could not fail now. He was focused.

Focused on the oath he had sworn his life for.

She did not notice when his hand of flesh reached down to his belt.

She did not notice that same hand pulling out a small, slender blade silently from its sheath.

Oh how she embraced him! Oh how _he_ embraced her!

His heart, now akin to the drums of war beat in time with hers.

He understood what he must do to save her.

The bitter tang of bile he tasted at the back of his throat even as he beheld her, the most beautiful creature in creation.

The red-gold flames from beyond the wall made her tears glitter and the cold wind caused their breaths to fog in tandem with the other.

Her emerald eyes spoke of sorrow, pleading, desire and longing and Jaime nearly faltered in his duty.

But he had already decided.

"I love you..." he choked, closing his eyes.

 _Forgive me..._

There was a flash of silver,the sound of her breath hitching in shock.

Cersei Lannister softly let go of her lover's embrace and stood still and alone for a time, transfixed at the hilt of the dagger that protruded just below her bosom.

Entranced, she slowly pressed a trembling hand on her stomach and it came away slick and scarlet.

For one last time, Cersei looked at the man she loved all her life.

The golden man in the white cape stood in front of her, his emerald eyes wide open and filled with horror and tears.

* * *

He caught his Queen as she fell and they both sank down together onto the floor.

She in repose, and he on his knees.

His horror had gone and only his agony remained.

Only then did he hear the thick oaken doors of the throne room splintering and the voices of the men trying to force their way through.

Her blood had flowed onto his white cape, staining it crimson, marking him forever.

"Cersei..." he wept.

Kingslayer.

"Cersei..."

Kinslayer.

He had both succeeded and failed in his duty.

His hand of flesh stroked the corpse's cheek even as tears flowed down his, and that same hand found its way shortly to the dagger that had pierced her heart.

There was only one thing left to do.

His hand of flesh pulled out the blade that had taken her life.

He planted one last kiss on her lips and settled her on the floor gently, crossing her hands at her chest.

 _We entered this life as equals..._

He cleaned the blade with his cape and took a moment to appreciate its cruel beauty in the dim light.

 _Two halves of the same whole..._

There was no fear in him when his hand of flesh raised the silver dagger to the level of his throat.

 _And so we shall leave it the same..._

The hand of gold helped it thrust home _._

* * *

At last the great oaken doors gave way.

Dead bodies lay strewn about in blood and snow, among them the despised Queen herself, lying regally as if in repose atop a bed of liquid scarlet.

He lay beside her, his breaths ragged and foggy in the cold air, his golden armor drenched in blood from his ruined throat, his white cape scarlet as the arms of his House.

Ser Jaime Lannister was not yet dead though, and he faintly felt strong arms cradling him just then.

Slowly, the dying knight opened his eyes.

A pair of tearful blue ones set in a face nobody would have considered a beauty looked down into his own.

He could not help but smile for her.

She looked more beautiful to him at that moment than at any time he could ever remember.

"Jaime..." she called softly, "Jaime..."

Jaime allowed one last vestige of that roguish smile he frequently sported during the time she was his protector to escape his bloody lips.

"Why did you..." she pleaded, "Why?"

"For...love," he rasped.

"For... _love_ ," and Ser Jaime Lannister breathed his last.


End file.
